Throw Me A Curveball
by KonohaFox
Summary: Alcohol and frat-parties don't fix a life that was supposed to be bright and rose-colored, but turned out dark and grim. Nothing is going to heal a heart broken by a family member, nothing is going to heal anxiety, nothing is going to heal depression, nothing and nobody but yourself. So Gabriel makes it work and tries to fix himself, but the universe has it out for him.
1. The First Inning

**Throw Me A Curve Ball**

 _ **A** lcohol and frat-parties don't fix a life that was supposed to be bright and rose-colored, but turned out dark and grim. Nothing is going to heal a heart broken by a family member, nothing is going to heal anxiety, nothing is going to heal depression, nothing and nobody but yourself. So Gabriel makes it work and tries to fix himself, but the universe has it out for him._

* * *

 **NOTE:** This story is a prologue to the rewrite of my other story 'From Me To You', which I decided to rewrite (if I ever get to it) when I got stuck at a certain point in the story. That means some characters that appeared there as teenagers, will appear here in this story as adults (university students). Here's a quick list for the human names I'm using: Gabriel Férnandez-Rosário (APH Portugal), Arthur Kirkland (APH Britain), Winnie Wang (APH Taiwan), and Alfred F. Jones (APH America). Also, some warnings in case: **Referenced/Implied Drug usage,** **Underaged Drinking** , and **Homophobia**

* * *

 **The First Inning .**

* * *

As far as I am concerned, miracles don't exist. Meeting your soulmate, Christ resurrection, and being 'alright' all sound like bullshit. But I suppose miracles can happen, otherwise people wouldn't talk about them all the time I guess. Afterall, some people survive natural disasters, some people can lift cars, some people defy the laws of nature and fate, and earth keeps spinning regardless of all the disaster on the surface. But miracles don't happen to me. Never have I ever had a ray of divine providence shine down on me, or have I seen Virgin Mary in my coffee cream. I didn't get into the baseball team with sheer luck and talent. I worked, and I worked hard. Science and determination is what you need in life. Because if miracles existed, I wouldn't have ended up where I am now.

And perhaps, perhaps you can count the fact that the wooden floor underneath at least fifty drunk university students (one of them being me) hasn't given away yet as a miracle on its own.

"You look like you're having the time of your life, man."

Arthur groans in agony. He's lying on the couch and he looks downright miserable. His hair's a mess of tangles and his preppy clothes are wrinkled. In his left hand is a red cup filled with… with whatever they serve here, and his right hand is pinching the bridge of his nose. Pale face drawn with regret.

"Fuck you, Gabriel." he grumbles and then follows something I can't quite catch over the background noises. And with background noises I mean the shitty house tracks and screaming undergraduates.

"What?" I ask, leaning over to him.

Arthur answers something, but I still can't hear him.

" _What?"_ I try again, this time with my hand to my ear.

" _Remind me why we're here again?"_ finally his voice reaches over the terrible loud bass. I'm pretty sure I won't hear a thing tomorrow.

I chuckle and flop down on the couch, right next to him, and pat him on his shoulder, "There're a couple of reasons. But you did this all by yourself, buddy." I say and I gesture to the petty mess he is.

Arthur glares at me, "You could have pulled me back to our dorms when I made this decision.

I shrug, "Could've, but we both know there's no stopping you when it's Jones challenging you." I shoot back, "I wasn't the one who forced you here, you followed me on your own accord. And that you decided to stay for Jones, is your own fault. Besides, Winnie really wanted you to be here."

"Fucking kill me right now." Arthur groans and he throws his head against the back of the couch, looking perfectly pathetic the way he was.

I shake my head, "Nope, not gonna happen." I tell him with a smirk, "Who else is gonna share the bed with me?"

Arthur isn't looking at me when he answers: "You better learn to sleep alone then."

Instead, his eyes are focused on the mop of blond hair at the back of the room and I know all too well who the owner of that hair is. I've seen Arthur looking at it too many times.

I gasp dramatically and place a hand over my heart, pretending to be really hurt by those words, " _What?!"_ I begin, "Am I hearing that right?! You don't wanna share with me anymore? Would you rather share your bed with Jones then."

And I know I've struck a nerve.

At the mention of Jones' name in the same sentence with _sharing the bed_ , Arthur's face colors in a brighter shade red, because he already had a faint blush from all the alcohol. We both know I wasn't talking about just _sharing_ the bed.

"Shut your fuck!" he quickly shouts, covering his face with his hands to hide his flushed face.

I fling an arm around him, "I don't mind," I tell him, "If I were you, I would want to share with him too. Too bad he's a straight fuckboi and you make zero chance with him. Guess we'll be sharing a bit longer then."

I follow his eyes to the other end of the room, and despite the amount of people crowding around us, it's still fairly easy to spot Alfred F. Jones. He's talking to a couple of guys and girls, loudly and with a lot of hand gestures. Arthur and I met Jones in our freshman year during the introduction week and it was a direct hit on Arthur's side. He liked Jones but refused to admit his attraction and claimed to 'hate' him and Jones, being the idiot he is, took the bait. Ever since, they've been fighting and competing over everything there was to compete about. It's a blessing they don't have the same majors, or otherwise one of them would have been murdered already. And Arthur is still attracted, or rather attracted to the idea of something he can't actually have.

"There's no guarentee he's a straight fuckboi." Arthur spits his last word out with pure spite like it's poison on his tongue.

I frown at him, "Dude. He wears a snapback, soccer shorts, he's a Beta Theta, a _frat boy,_ and-" I pause to gesture at Jones, "-and he's in the sports program."

Arthur isn't buying it. With his eyes still on Jones he snaps: "Well, so are you."

"Yeah, but I do baseball and he does american football." I say, "And that, my friend, is the important difference between us."

Arthur rolls his eyes, "You're an arse."

"Oh, but you love it."

Arthur is about to say something witty back when we're both suddenly ambushed by two slender arms wrapping around the both of us, pulling us into a tight and warm hug that smells a lot like alcohol and sweat. I don't need to be told to know who this person is.

"Holy shit, Arthur came!" the voice, clearly a girl's, beams.

Arthur pushes her away, "Are you drunk, Winnie?"

Winnie Wang, simply Winnie is an earth physics major and a senior just like us. I was stereotyping her when we first met, in the library, two years ago. She looked like the kind of person who never left that place to study things she didn't even need to know. I thought that because she is asian and that's how we all stereotype asians, smart and good at math with no life. I thought Winnie was like that too, but boy, was I wrong. She's a partier, outgoing and barely paying attention to her studies. She's managing, always barely passing, but passing nonetheless and that's all that counts for her. Life is supposed to be fun for her, freedom is all she gives about. Problems at home, too.

Winnie pulls away from the hug and squirms her body between us on the couch, "No way." she giggles, clearly tipsy, "I'd say Arthur's wasted for coming here. Because, _wow_ , he's at a party. Away from the library and his laptop and his books. He's _here_ , at a frat-party! What kind of spell did you put him under, Gabe?"

"I didn't," I say, holding my hands up in defense, "More like Jones did something."

"No way." Winnie whispers and she turns to look at Arthur with her big doe eyes, "You've got to be kidding. _Jones?!_ "

I nod and Arthur groans loudly, he's been doing that a lot lately, "He _dared_ me, I repeat, he _dared_ me and you know I can't turn my back on a competition, Winnie."

She clearly wasn't listening to him, "Jones?" she whispers again, "I understand you've got a type, Arthur, but he looks like a dick. It's not like I ever talked to him, we're in completely different majors, but I know his type and he's a dick."

I take my chance, "Remember, Winnie, Arthur likes dick."

He looks like he's ready to pull the trigger and kill himself. Or me.

Winnie pushes her round glasses back up her nose, "What's he like anyway? You've got to have a good reason to like him other than his looks."

When Arthur doesn't answer, I do, "He's a jackass, or a dick like you said, but so is Arthur. So I guess that doesn't say much… I guess Jones is a genuinely nice person. He tries, but he can't make it happen. Not with Arthur at least."

"I don't like him." Arthur says arms crossed over his chest, "And you guys are single too, so shut the fuck up and stop trying to force me together with Alfred."

Arthur had a point. I had been single since I graduated high school. Couple of hook-ups now and then, and an occasional bed share with Arthur was all I did. It wasn't a healthy way of living your student life, but it could've been worse.

(Oh, who am I kidding. It is the worst)

"I'm not single." Winnie glared, "I've got a girlfriend since, like-" she pauses to take a glance at her watch, "-yesterday."

Arthur nearly drops his red cup on the couch (he manages to catch it before it spills and I would have applauded any other day if it weren't for the current situation) and I choke on air. We're just surprised that Winnie managed to get a girlfriend, we're not surprised it is a girl.

"What?!"

"Yeah, I've got a girlfriend. Her name is Sophia and she's in computer science." Winnie tells us with a proud grin on her face, "And she's freaking hot, I tell you. Pretty blue eyes, soft blond hair, pink lips…"

While Winnie rambles on, Arthur and I exchange a couple of glances over her head like we're having a whole conversation without her. No, we are having a whole conversation without her. Arthur glares at me at makes a couple of rude hand gestures, telling me not to go on with what I am planning to do. I only smirk back and him and wink. Arthur traces his finger past his throat, but I don't take the threat. Arthur sighs in defeat.

"I guess Arthur now owns me ten bucks and free lunch." I grin. And after seeing Winnie's confused gaze, I try to explain, "We had a bet on who would get in a relationship first. I betted on you, he on himself. And we just pretended that you bet on me, so if I got into a relationship first you would have won ten bucks and a lunch from me and the Mr. Master Mind over here."

"You thought you had game with Jones?" Winnie cackles in disbelieve, completely missing the point, "That's hilarious!"

Arthur frowns and reaches in his pocket, handing me a ten dollar bill, "Stop mocking me. Great fucking friends you are." he grumbles, "Anyway, I'm having some fresh air. I'm getting sick of the smell here. Take care of this, will you?" he hands me his drink and jumps up from the couch.

"Have fun, buddy."

"Good luck, Mr. Master Mind."

"Yeah," he grimaces, "you too." and he's saying it like know something I don't.

And with that, Arthur's heading towards the kitchen. In the corner of my eye, I spy Jones stammering an excuse towards his friends before jumping up and leaving into the same direction as. He walks surprisingly straight for someone who has participated in so many rounds of beer pong. Perhaps because he is straight, or his gay makes up for it.

I silently pray for both of their souls.

"So," Winnie starts, "did you, with the betting thing, do that on purpose?"

I pretend to be innocent, "What?"

"Me betting on you." she clarifies, "Did you do that on purpose because you knew I wouldn't win that way?"

"Well, yeah…" I say, "But also because Arthur wanted to bet on himself. We all know you two have more game when it comes down to romance than me."

Winnie shoot me a sympathetic glance. I hate that look on her face, not because _she_ looks that way but because that look is always directed at me. Winnie knows about my life, I told her everything there's to know because she's so relatable. Trouble at home and trouble in her romance life, but Winnie is different than me. She's stronger and has herself under control.

"You're gonna be fine." she says while patting my shoulder, "You're the great Gabriel Férnandez after all. Star of the baseball team with a promising and rose-colored life."

I laugh at that, but it is more of a fake laugh, "You're hilarious, Winnie."

She glances away from my face and scans the room for somebody, "I'm gonna look for Sophia, I guess. I haven't seen her yet this evening, but she said she'd be here."

I raise a hand to her as response, "Fine."

She snickers at that, "Please don't do anything stupid when I'm away." she says, "You're supposed to fix yourself and _that_ -" she pauses to gesture at the red cup filled with liquor, "-isn't the way to do it."

"I got you." I say, waving her away, "I won't do anything stupid."

"So please don't go bone the first hot boy you see."

"I won't!"

"Be careful!" she says, slowly backing away from the couch, eyes still on me.

"Yeah, don't worry!" I yell back at her, "Please go look for Sophia!"

She waves one last time before diving into the crowd and with Arthur and Winnie both gone, I'm completely left to my own shitty house tracks are overwhelming and my ears feel like they're about to burst and the smell of weed isn't making my headache much better, I get rather nauseous of the smell. I accidentally found out that burned bay leafs kinda smell like weed, but weed is like twenty times worse than burned bay leafs.

Well, it's not like my headache will go away any time soon. It's already guaranteed I'll wake up with a hangover tomorrow morning, so I might as well drink like my life depends on it. It's not like it actually matters. In a year, all of this will be over.

I sniff the drink Arthur handed me and it smells suspiciously a lot like gasoline. It's called the Washing Machine, the drink I mean, because they literally mix any booze they've got on their hands in a single cup with some syrup to make hell taste a little less like hell. It's usually served as the first drink of the evening to get the freshmen out of the door. If you've never had a taste of alcohol in your life before, one gulp of this stuff and you're out. It's to secure a better party and it has worked again today. There are almost no freshmen students left in the room any. The few that have decided to stay longer, lie knock out or totally wasted on the floor. All, but one.

"Dang…" I whisper.

Near the window is standing a boy, tall and blond and as far as I can see in the dimmed lights, he's dusted with freckles around his nose and shoulders. He's not wearing a lot of layers for the season; blue skinny jeans around his long legs and a tight white tank-top his hugging his body, defining every single muscle on his chest. And suddenly it's way too hot for January.

He's probably called Dylan, or Chris, because he looks like that kind of person. And he probably has a little sister he loved with all of his heart. He cooks for his mom, he helps old people cross the street, and he does animal charity on his days off. His grandma is gushing to her friends about how precious her grandson is, probably, because Pretty Boy doesn't look like a bad guy. Despite the cigaret between his teeth and the angry gaze in his eyes.

I wonder what color they are.

"Sorry Winnie." I whisper against the red plastic, "To hell with it."

So I chug Arthur's drink in one gulp and raise from the couch. I wobble the first few steps I make towards Pretty Boy's direction, because the first few steps are always a challenge when you're wasted. And the steps after that are not much easier. I decide to take baby steps, because that's supposed to help when you're in this kind of situation. Take little steps, take it slow, and don't be afraid to fall, or so my mom says. I'm definitely afraid to fall, if I fall right no, my chance with Pretty Boy is ruined. And also, I'll hit my head against the table, so, falling ain't an option here.

Some voice in my head says I shouldn't be doing this.

I'm not sure what though, because there's a lot of stuff I shouldn't be doing. Drinking myself into a coma, for instance. Smoking. Fucking myself up over and over again. Sleeping with my roommate. Leaving my little brother behind in Dorado Bay with a witch of a mother. Being here, at the party, at all. So much I shouldn't be doing, and yet I do all of ir.

I should be fixing myself.

Pretty boy is still standing on his spot near the fogged window as I walk up to him. He's looking outside, to the lights of the building on the other end of the streets, but I am looking at him. He takes the cigaret out of his mouth and blows the smoke into the air. There's a tattoo on his left shoulder, a red rose.

Then his eyes fall on me and they're green.

Green.

So deep.

I wonder what secrets he's hiding.

"Hi," I say, "I'm Gabriel."

Pretty boy smiles down at me, he's fucking tall, "Hey." he says, "I'm Thomas."

* * *

 **...**

* * *

 **NOTE:** Okay, so no promises, but I'll try to update regularly. I really will try, but it's gonna be hard, since I'll be starting the pre-university program in high school for the next two years and that program is much harder than the one I followed previously. I probably have to study more than I was used to, so don't expect regular updates (although my motivations for writing relies greatly on when I don't want to make homework). Next chapter will probably added within two weeks, hopefully just one. With that in mind, I hope I see you next chapter!


	2. The Second Inning

**Throw Me A Curve Ball**

 _ **A** lcohol and frat-parties don't fix a life that was supposed to be bright and rose-colored, but turned out dark and grim. Nothing is going to heal a heart broken by a family member, nothing is going to heal anxiety, nothing is going to heal depression, nothing and nobody but yourself. So Gabriel makes it work and tries to fix himself, but the universe has it out for him._

* * *

 **NOTE:** This story is a prologue to the rewrite of my other story 'From Me To You', which I decided to rewrite (if I ever get to it) when I got stuck at a certain point in the story. That means some characters that appeared there as teenagers, will appear here in this story as adults (university students). Here's a quick list for the human names I'm using: Gabriel Férnandez-Rosário (APH Portugal), Arthur Kirkland (APH Britain), Winnie Wang (APH Taiwan), and Alfred F. Jones (APH America). Also, some warnings in case: **Referenced/Implied Drug usage,** **Underaged Drinking** , and **Homophobia**

* * *

 **The Second Inning .**

* * *

In my dreams, my little brother is safe.

"Rise and shine, Gabriel!"

I'm abruptly pulled out of the blissful dream and thrown into the real world as the blind are violently opened. The tiny bedroom is suddenly bathed in blinding white light from wall to wall and it _hurts_. The light is burning even though my eyes are closed. I waste no time and quickly press my face into the pillow, but that hurts too. Of all the things Arthur could have done to wake me up with, this brutal act of violence is what he decided to go with. Not softly nudging me awake, no coffee, and certainly no mercy. Because, Arthur is a dick.

"Jesus fuck, Arthur." I groan, rolling onto my stomach while blatantly ignoring the sudden gripping pain, "I know it's hard for you not to be a prick, but I got no morning classes today. It's Monday for Christ's sake."

Arthur flops down on the bed, almost on top of me, "It's twelve o'clock you arse. Your first class starts in an hour."

I bury myself deeper into my pillow, "Fuck man… you sound way too much like my mom."

He chuckles at that and clears his throat, "It's time to be a responsible young lad, dear Gabi-Baby." he says in the worst imitation of a woman's voice. Then, in his normal voice he continues: "Well, somebody's gotta keep you in a straight line. Although it's practically impossible considering how queer you are."

Artur is clearly joking, but I cannot laugh about it, so I try a different subject, "How come you don't get hungover? What even happened yesterday?"

I tilt my head slightly only to see Arthur raise an eyebrow at me, "You don't remember?" he asks with legit concern in his voice. I'm not used to hear that from him, he's either mocking me or being an unemotional prick. Well, a first time for everything.

I shake my head and wince. It hurts, "I remember alcohol and weed" I answer, "And that you don't get hungover from all the shit you drank apparently."

Arthur folds his arms and looks down at me, "There was a party at the frat-house. Winnie was there, I was there, _you were there._ "

Oh yeah, the last three words are definitely an understatement and he's definitely mocking me, "Yeah, no shit." I grumble as I turn my face back into the white pillow case, "My head is killing me."

"That's just because you're getting an old man." Arthur decides as he rises from the bed, patting his pants free of imaginary dust, "Now, get out of bed or I'll make you. Unless you're nauseous, because I am not risking freshly washed clothes."

"I'm twenty-one, jackass." I snap back at him, looking up at his cold eyes, "And no, I'm not nauseous."

"Like I said, you're an old man." he replies coldly as he's walking towards the entrance of my room, "Come on, get your arse out of there. If you're not out in two minutes, I'll pull you out of there!"

Arthur shoots me one last gaze before leaving, not closing the door behind him. That's a mom trick, leaving the door open. Because if you can get up to close it, there's absolutely no point in going back to bed. I mean, if you're out why go back? Arthur knows all the mom tricks and I know he'll actually pull me out of bed, even though it sounded like he was joking. He has done it before, and he'll do it again. Not to mention, his hands are cold as ice in the morning.

Just like his soul, I think, jokingly. And you don't want those touching you.

So I carry myself out of bed and stumble over towards the bathroom. It's hard to keep walking straight if you're about to throw up with every step, but a hot shower sounds like a gift from God right now. And it is a gift from God, I realize as the warm water falls down my head and trickles down my neck. It doesn't exactly cure my hangover (should've drunk more water last night), but at least it washes the weed- and alcohol smell away. I dress myself in a pair of jeans and a thin baseball tee. I look terrible, dark bags under my eyes and hair unbrushed, but I look presentable. Ever seen a university student look good on Monday? I haven't, only on my very first day here and that's almost five years ago.

.

"How aren't you freezing to death?" I mutter when Arthur and I make our way towards the cafeteria for breakfast, "It's like, thirty degrees in here."

I glance sideways to my friend, dressed in nothing but blue jeans, combat boots, and a flannel shirt, but there's a thermo-shirt poking out above his collar. Cheater. However I have admiration for Arthur on days like these, when it's freezing in- and outside, he still walks around with the same clothing he would have worn in the summer. He wears the same stuff all year round, with seventy degrees outside he'll still be in all black. Emo.

"Maybe, if you would wear more layers, you wouldn't be dying right now." he says, smirking, "Besides, you're overreacting. We're inside, it should be at least twenty degrees in here."

Uhm, that doesn't sound right, "Ehm, what?" I begin, "Twenty degrees? Are we talking about the same thing here?"

Arthur shrugs as he keeps walking, "Celsius."

"Oh." I say, "Fahrenheit." and I swear I hear Arthur mutter _fucking americans_ under his breath. So I take the bait and spat a: "Fucking europeans." to him.

He doesn't pay mind to my words and continues the conversation where it left off, "And even if we're talking about fahrenheit here, thirty degrees isn't that bad. I went to Switzerland once during summer, and it snowed."

"That must have sucked balls." I say, but there's a twinge of jealousy in it. Neither of my families could afford a vacation, not even in the country. Let alone outside of it.

Arthur nods, "Yeah, and that while you're camping outside."

"California is so different from Michigan…" I sigh, "Summers there were dry and hot and winters, well, the highest temperature during summer here is the lowest temperature there in the winter."

Arthur doesn't take the excuse, he's from Ohio, "That was what? Four years ago?" he shoots back, "You haven't been home in four years, Gabriel. You should be used to the climate here by now."

And something just _snaps_.

We have a rule, Arthur an I, an unspoken arrangement between the two of us, that we never talk about our homes. There's a good reason we both moved as far as we could from home and in the four years I've known Arthur, he only returns for Christmas. He spends his summers couch surfing because he hates his brothers, or so he told me, but the rest of the story is unknown to me. I don't like to pry. Likewise, he doesn't know shit about my life either. He thinks I don't go home because of my stepmother. He doesn't know I have no place to go to. California will never be my home again.

Arthur seems to have noticed the change in the atmosphere and just stops talking for the rest of the walk to the cafeteria. And even in the cafeteria he doesn't talk a lot. He knows he has hit a sore spot, but I can't stand silence.

We're seated at our regular table at the window.

"So," I begin, "what happened yesterday?"

Arthur lowers his tea cup, raising an eyebrow at me, "You really don't remember?" he asks, concern in his voice again, "You really drank too much yesterday, you should watch out."

I shrug, "What the coach doesn't know, doesn't hurt him." I say, "But I really don't remember anything from yesterday. Did anything happen with Jones after you went outside? I saw him follow you."

His lips tug upwards in something close to a grimace, "I kicked him." he says so softly, I'm not sure I've heard him right.

"Sorry, you did _what?_ "

"I kicked him." Arthur says louder this time, "I kicked him because he was being a dick to me."

I choke on air, "You wha-You _kicked_ him?!" I sputter, "But he followed you! He followed you on his own accord! He had it out for you, in a _good_ way!"

Arthur carefully places the cup on the table and crosses his arms, "Well, if he really was, then he shouldn't have been a dick to me."

Oh my God, he's so stubborn. I can't fucking believe him. Arthur is the kind of person who will forever and only believe in his own judgement and only his, even though he's mostly wrong. No wonder he's got only two friends, he despises the rest of the world and we wouldn't even have been friends if it wasn't for Shakespeare.

"You're really pathetic, you know that?"

"I don't want to hear that from you, Gabriel."

I shoot him an indifferent glance, "You had a fucking chance with him, you realize that, right? And maybe not even in a romantic sense, perhaps just platonic, but a chance nonetheless."

He doesn't respond on that and grabs his cup again, even though it's already empty, and he doesn't speak for the rest of our breakfast until we put our trays away. Sometimes I wonder how on earth I befriended Arthur, but then I remember we're both just terrible tragic and dramatic so it actually makes sense. We met, like I told before, at the introduction week of the university and we didn't really hit off right from the start. He was introverted and I was extroverted. He was looking for silence and I was looking for noise. Eventually, we bonded thanks to Shakespeare's Hamlet and our mutual hatred towards Jones. Now we're just together because we're not used to being apart. It's a bad thing, we're making each other's lives worse.

"Did you hear anything from Winnie last night?" Arthur asks when we walk out of the cafeteria, "Haven't heard from her since last night."

He's hesitant, I notice. Uncomfortable because of the situation with Jones. Because of me, too.

I look at the ceiling for answers, "I remember that she went to Sophia after giving me a lecture." I answer, "I don't remember what happened after that.

"Hey mullet-man and King Arthur!"

As if on queue, Winnie's rushing down the corridor to meet us and I twirl around to meet her eyes. She's dressed in a pale turtleneck, high waisted jeans, and worn tennis shoes. Her blond dyed hair tied in a messy bun on top of her head. Winnie's the kind of girl who looks good no matter how bad her night was. I know she's hungover and I know she probably slept for only three hours last night, but she looks beautiful. Stunningly even compared to Arthur and I.

But her insult about my hair doesn't go unnoticed, "Excuse me, Winnie!" I throw an accusing finger in her direction, "Why is it that Arthur gets a fancy nickname while you call me _mullet-man_. This-" I comb my fingers through the longer locks at the nape of my neck, "-isn't a mullet. It's just long."

She snorts, "Yeah, and I'm the president of the United States and Arthur's love-life isn't pathetic."

"Hey!" objects Arthur from her left side as we're walking again, "It's not pathetic at all!"

I ignore him and throw my hands up in defeat, "Alright, alright." I grin, "That's a good one. I admit, I've got a mullet. And Arthur ruined his chances with Jones last night by the way. He kicked him in the balls."

"I kicked him in the stomach." he corrects me, sounding too offended about the whole ordeal.

"Whatever, same thing." I wave him away, "You ruined it nonetheless."

Winnie's laughing loud again, nose scrunching upwards and making the most adorable sounds I've ever heard a girl made, "You're both pathetic, Jones and you."

Over the years, it has turned into a sport to insult Arthur and Winnie and I have made it a competition of who can do it better. So far, I'm winning with 348-340. And when we're not mocking Arthur, we're mocking Jones, or our professors.

Arthur scratches his nose and pouts, "Fuck you." he says, "I'm going to class."

He doesn't, however, and stays with us until he's almost too late for the lecture. He likes us better than his dark-ages english literature lecture, at least we're more interesting than that.

The snow from the weeks before had melted away and frozen up again, becoming rock and rock hard with dirty spots of brown and yellow from dog feces. But it was snowing again, covering the town in a whole new layer of white powder and making the world look like a christmas-card. Before I came here to Michigan, I had never seen snow in my life before. At first I had loved it, but it had taken a single week for me to absolutely hate snow. It didn't help it snowed here from November to February.

.

So I am perfectly content sitting here in the library next to a heater with a cup of tea.

Ann Arbor's campus is huge and because Winnie, Arthur and I all follow different majors and minors, we usually meet up here in the library at the main-building between and after classes. Unlike most days, it's just me and Winnie, since Arthur had a group project and couldn't come. We're at our usual spot, second floor between the shelves near the window where the sun shines all day. Arthur claimed this spot as his own in his first week of freshman year, but after befriending us he had no other choice but to share it. To this day, I think he still regrets showing us this place.

"So I was talking to Kathy yesterday and-" Winnie rattles on, "-and apparently she and Michael from my calculus minor have been going at it for like four months! And when I asked if they were a couple, she said 'no'! Can you believe it Gabriel?!"

I'm sitting cross legged against one of the shelves with a book on human psychology on my lap. Winnie's telling me everything I forgot about the party yesterday while she's looking for books for her project, although I don't think books on psychology are going to help with earth physics or calculus.

I nod absentmindedly, more invested in the book I'm reading right now, "It's sounds a bit like the situation between Jones and Arthur." I reply, "I mean, don't Kathy and Michael pretend to hate each other?"

Winnie pushes her glasses up, "Yeah, but Kathy and Michael at least admitted they are physically attracted to each other." she says before pausing suddenly and her eyes grow big as something dawns upon her, "Besides, Arthur and you-You two have been going at it since halfway our first year! That ain't healthy!"

I put my book down and roll my eyes, "You said that before."

"Yeah, and I'm saying it again because I'm a good friend!" she says and she sits down next to me, her knees touching mine, "I'm seriously worried about you! You keep saying you've got it all under control, but you don't even remember yesterday's party! How am I supposed to believe you're going to fix yourself."

I groan and rub my face, "It's going to be fine." I tell her, "Just give it some time. You're like an overly concerned mother."

And it feels like deja vu.

She doesn't reply on that, but just takes my hands in hers and holds them between the two of us. She's not saying a word, but her face is saying enough. She's concerned and she the best friend I ever had. She cares, she really cares about me and Arthur and honestly, it's a little scary. But she means well, so I'll try to fix myself for her sake.

I smile softly at her face, "Winnie, it's going to be alright." I tell her, "I just-"

Behind Winnie looms a new figure up in the aisle. He's reaching for the highest shelves with ease, something I would have been jealous of if it wasn't for the situation, because he's tall, blonde, and oddly familiar and it freaks me out a little bit. I mean, this is Ann Arbor, home to a couple of thousand students. It's pretty unlikely to see the same face twice when you're not in the same major or the same year.

The man pulls a book out of the shelves and then his eyes fall on Winnie and I and my heart sinks.

It's Pretty Boy.

 _Fuck._

Winnie yelps as I scramble up and pull her with me. With my book in my right hand and Winnie in my left, I race us to two aisles away from _Human Psycology_ , tea forgotten on the ground with Pretty Boy.

"What the _fuck_ Gabriel?!" she whispers loudly, remembering we're at a library, "What the actual fuck?!"

I glance over my shoulder, Pretty Boy is nowhere in sight. That's good. It's just not good that Winnie's here with me. She'll want to know what is going on and then she'll judge me and tell me to quit my life. Of course she will, she's my friend and she's worried.

I sink down against one of the shelves and rub my face with both my hands, "Uhm, Winnie?" I begin, still not looking up to her, "I kinda need to tell you something?"

I hear Winnie shift and sit down besides me, "Well, we're already talking." she says, trying to pry my fingers away from my face, "Are you alright?"

Shaking my head, I let her take my hands in hers for the second time today, "It's about yesterday," I tell her, "I… I might have remembered something?"

The words don't really come out, but Winnie's a patient person when it comes to me.

"What would you do if I, if I told you I did not exactly listen to what you told me last night?" I try, and my voice is oddly pitched, "About f-f-fixing myself?"

Winnie face crunches into something close to disgust, anger, and then in pure disappointment as she rips her hand away from mine to pinch the bridge of her nose, "What did you do this time?"

Her voice sounding perfectly like the _"I'm not mad at you, just disappointment"-_ mom and I honestly don't know what's worse. Disappointing Winnie is like telling a kid there's no Santa, and you just don't want that.

I squeeze my eyes shut, "Yeah, well, I just hope I didn't do anything."

A loud groan escapes her mouth, "Are you shitting me, Gabriel?!" yup, disappointment-but-not-mad-mom-mode activated to the fullest extent, "You don't remember them-him, do you? Do you even know his name?"

I shake my head and suddenly the worn cover of my book is the most interesting thing on earth, "Uhh, no? I mean, I know he's blond and tall, but I don't know his name."

"He could be anybody."

"He's a freshman."

Winnie looks at me as if she has seen Arthur without his clothes on, "A freshman…?" she repeats slowly, as if she's pronouncing the word for the first time, "As in, fresh outta high school? Eighteen years-old at the max?! That kind of freshman?!"

I nod.

"Are you out of your mind, Gabriel?!" she's not whispering anymore, she's talking loud and more people are starting to look at us, "Are you crazy? He's not even an adult yet! You're twenty-one!"

I swallow, Winnie's rage is something else entirely and I want to be angry with her for screaming at me. But she's right, and she cares. And I have to tell myself that over and over again. Somebody cares, Winnie cares.

"I know that, and that's why I hope I didn't do anything."

Winnie shakes her head and raises herself from the ground, "You're hopeless, you know that?" she says, but she still offers her hand to pull me up.

I take it, gladly, and I give her a smile that hopefully doesn't look like a wince, "You know me. Hopeless and tragic."

"That's an understatement." she says with a giggle, but her voice grows serious the second after, "But you gotta figure this out man. We're almost graduating and you can't keep this up-"

Winnie grows silent, and she's no longer looking at my face again but to something above me. I swallow, there's somebody behind me. Somebody much taller, somebody blond. Somebody handsome. Somebody pretty.

I slowly turn on my heels, facing the danger.

"Mullet?"

 _Green eyes._

"Thomas?"

Thomas scratches the nape of his neck awkwardly, in his hands is the steaming cup of tea and he's looking down to the floor with his cheeks slightly pink, "You- you forgot your tea in the aisle, so I thought I'd bring it to you?"

I look down to his hands, then back to his face and or the first time in my life, I feel actually speechless. So of course I say the two lamest words in the lamest way anyone could have uttered to their crush, "Thank you?"

* * *

 **...**

* * *

 **NOTE:** APH Portugal has a mullet, fight me. We know his terrible fashion taste is canon, so I went for an 80s fashion sense for him. Arthur is obviously a grunge, not emo like Gabriel says, and I imagine Winnie to be this aesthetically pleasing girl like you see them on Tumblr.

Anyhow, the pre-university program is taking a lot of me mentally even though it's not that hard yet, but there's a chance I won't finish it in favor of college. We'll just have to see how it all pans out and how I'll take it. Because if it goes bad, I'll get some serious delays with writing and all.

If you noticed any mistakes in this chapter, please leave a review so I can fix it or something. I appreciate the help. Next update's probably up in two weeks if I'm lucky.


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